


In Nomine Patris

by Gigi_Sinclair



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-24
Updated: 2015-04-24
Packaged: 2018-03-25 13:52:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3812962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gigi_Sinclair/pseuds/Gigi_Sinclair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Can we ever know the will of the gods?</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Nomine Patris

“I wish you could bear my sons.”

The thought was so absurd, so patently ridiculous, Athelstan couldn't help but laugh. A twinge of pain told him it was too soon for that, and he shifted on the bed, trying to get comfortable again.

“What?” Ragnar looked over at him. The room was dimly lit, a few tallow candles glowing in the corners. It was enough for Athelstan to see his smile. “You don't like that idea?”

“It is not a miracle I have ever considered praying for.” Athelstan moved again, pressing close to Ragnar and ignoring the persistent ache in his body. Ragnar was always gentle, far more gentle than anyone would think from looking at him, but sometimes---often--they were both swept away by a passion that threw all other considerations aside. Their intemperance made Athelstan blush, afterward, but he could never bring himself to regret it. 

Ragnar chuckled, but it ended in a sigh. Athelstan raised a hand. Ragnar took it, threading their fingers together. “You have Gyda and Bjorn,” Athelstan said, by way of comfort. “And if God wills it, Lagertha will have more children.” That brought another sharp pain, but not a physical one this time. Athelstan had quickly—remarkably quickly, in fact—made his peace with the sin of sodomy, but the sin of adultery was another matter. He respected Lagertha. He liked her. The betrayal of her was the only aspect of his relationship with Ragnar which brought him shame.

“God's will.” Ragnar repeated, skepticism in his voice. “I confess, Athelstan, the will of the gods is a mystery to me, now more than ever.” Athelstan couldn't argue. He didn't know why he was here, he didn't know why he and Ragnar had been brought together, but the more time they spent in each other's company, the less any god seemed to matter. It was a dangerous way to feel. It surprised Athelstan how little he was concerned about it, and how little he worried about his lack of worry. “Just think, though,” Ragnar went on. “A son with my strength and your brains would become a formidable man.”

“One God himself would not dare oppose,” Athelstan agreed, the blasphemy tripping off his tongue with ease. 

Ragnar laughed. He rolled himself on top of Athelstan, the weight a solid reassurance Athelstan could not imagine having lived without. “Just as long as he gets his looks from you,” Ragnar said, and kissed him. 

***

Kattegat had changed during Athelstan's most recent absence. It was to be expected, of course. The community was always in flux, but this time, it seemed different. The skies were darker, the mood was heavier. People looked at Athelstan with hard suspicion, a way they never had before.

He knew why. Before, Athelstan had been a worthless slave, then the earl's plaything and perhaps the earl's “mistress”, although no one ever had the courage to voice such a suspicion aloud. Now, the earl was their king, and Athelstan, a man who was not one of them and never would be, had his ear and his heart. In their position, Athelstan would have been distrusting. He could understand it perfectly, and he had changed himself. 

God had come back to him. Slowly, at first. It was God who compelled him to share Judith's bed. She was a sweet girl, intelligent and woefully underestimated by her husband and father-in-law. Still, Athelstan would not have given in to her if not for a voice, strong and undeniable, that told him to do so, that it was his duty to sleep with her and not to question why. 

God had faded again, the way He often did, when Ragnar returned and they were together. Athelstan was happy, spinning endless tales of Paris while Ragnar covered every inch of his body in kisses. But then. 

But then, He came back, more glorious than Athelstan had experienced, closer and realer and more tangible even than when Athelstan had been at the monastery and searching for Him every waking moment. Athelstan had to throw off Ragnar's armband, presented to him with the solemnity of a wedding ring. He had no choice. God superseded all, even if sometimes, even now, a tiny part of Athelstan wished he did not. 

Ragnar wished it, too. He understood, Athelstan expected nothing less, but he was unhappy. “You can't leave,” he begged. Athelstan had never heard such despair in his voice. “I love you,” he said. Athelstan believed him. He felt the same, but they had been living in a dream, and it was time to wake up.

Athelstan had his faith, and Ragnar had his sons, and that was the will of God—the only God—after all.


End file.
